A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court, Part 3. by Mark Twain (reading list txt) 📖

had once done battle with thirty knights, and also on account of his trip with Sir Gawaine and Sir Marhaus, which Sandy had been aging me with.  But Morgan was the main attraction, the conspicuous personality here; she was head chief of this household, that was plain.  She caused us to be seated, and then she began, with all manner of pretty graces and graciousnesses, to ask me questions.  Dear me, it was like a bird or a flute, or something, talking.  I felt persuaded that this woman must have been misrepresented, lied about.  She trilled along, and trilled along, and presently a handsome young page, clothed like the rainbow, and as easy and undulatory of movement as a wave, came with something on a golden salver, and, kneeling to present it to her, overdid his graces and lost his balance, and so fell lightly against her knee.  She slipped a dirk into him in as matter-of-course a way as another person would have harpooned a rat!

Poor child! he slumped to the floor, twisted his silken limbs in one great straining contortion of pain, and was dead.  Out of the old king was wrung an involuntary "O-h!" of compassion.  The look he got, made him cut it suddenly short and not put any more hyphens in it.  Sir Uwaine, at a sign from his mother, went to the anteroom and called some servants, and meanwhile madame went rippling sweetly along with her talk.

I saw that she was a good housekeeper, for while she talked she kept a corner of her eye on the servants to see that they made no balks in handling the body and getting it out; when they came with fresh clean towels, she sent back for the other kind; and when they had finished wiping the floor and were going, she indicated a crimson fleck the size of a tear which their duller eyes had overlooked.  It was plain to me that La Cote Male Taile had failed to see the mistress of the house.  Often, how louder and clearer than any tongue, does dumb circumstantial evidence speak.

Morgan le Fay rippled along as musically as ever.  Marvelous woman. And what a glance she had:  when it fell in reproof upon those servants, they shrunk and quailed as timid people do when the lightning flashes out of a cloud.  I could have got the habit myself.  It was the same with that poor old Brer Uriens; he was always on the ragged edge of apprehension; she could not even turn toward him but he winced.

In the midst of the talk I let drop a complimentary word about King Arthur, forgetting for the moment how this woman hated her brother.  That one little compliment was enough.  She clouded up like storm; she called for her guards, and said:

"Hale me these varlets to the dungeons."

That struck cold on my ears, for her dungeons had a reputation. Nothing occurred to me to say—or do.  But not so with Sandy. As the guard laid a hand upon me, she piped up with the tranquilest confidence, and said:

"God's wounds, dost thou covet destruction, thou maniac?  It is The Boss!"

Now what a happy idea that was!—and so simple; yet it would never have occurred to me.  I was born modest; not all over, but in spots; and this was one of the spots.

The effect upon madame was electrical.  It cleared her countenance and brought back her smiles and all her persuasive graces and blandishments; but nevertheless she was not able to entirely cover up with them the fact that she was in a ghastly fright. She said:

"La, but do list to thine handmaid! as if one gifted with powers like to mine might say the thing which I have said unto one who has vanquished Merlin, and not be jesting.  By mine enchantments I foresaw your coming, and by them I knew you when you entered here.  I did but play this little jest with hope to surprise you into some display of your art, as not doubting you would blast the guards with occult fires, consuming them to ashes on the spot, a marvel much beyond mine own ability, yet one which I have long been childishly curious to see."

The guards were less curious, and got out as soon as they got permission.

End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court, Part 3., by Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens)